


Mother's Here

by Septembers_coda



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Big Brother Dean, Brotherhood, Case Fic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, Pie, Rating: PG13, Salt And Burn, Teen Angst, Teenagers, Teenchesters, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-12-10 04:08:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Septembers_coda/pseuds/Septembers_coda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s summer in the woods of northern Oregon, and the boys are on their own. Dean is 14 and Sam is 10. John has finally decided Dean is old enough to care for Sam on his own, so naturally Dean promptly gets a job and a girlfriend and leaves Sam to fend for himself. But someone… or something… doesn’t want Sam left on his own…</p>
<p>I rated this General, but you might consider it PG-13 for some language and mildly scary concepts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mother's Here

It was early summer in the Pacific Northwest and the cabin was sweltering. _Peaceful, my ass,_ thought Dean—the sound of frogs, crickets, and whatever the hell else out there was louder than traffic in the big city. At least one mosquito had gotten in the cabin, too—Dean heard the whine near his ear, startling him, and he ended up kind of boxing his own ear as he slapped at it. Damn it. He twisted around in his sweaty sleeping bag, finally unzipping it to lie on top. Sam was utterly still on his cot across from him. The kid’s indifference to physical discomfort was sometimes kind of creepy. Dean listened to Sam’s quiet breathing, hoping it would lure him into sleep.

They had a pretty sweet deal that summer, Dean’s fourteenth. Dad was out on a hunt he expected would take at least two or three weeks. He’d finally decided Dean was old enough to take care of Sam alone for that long, and after taking them out of their last school, which was about to end for the summer anyway, John had brought them to this cabin in the woods of northern Oregon, stocked them up on canned goods, and warned them not to mingle with locals. He’d said they would probably use the cabin, which he’d rented for cheap and which had a generator and plumbing and everything, for their base that summer; he’d come back after his current hunt and check in with his sons. He’d even left them a couple of fishing rods, since they were near some good fishing spots. The local rivers and streams were tributaries of the Columbia, apparently.

Dean, of course, was ignoring the no-mingling rule. He already had a job and a girlfriend, who was 15 and thought he was 16. So did his employer, the owner of a burger stand just off the highway. Dean could walk to work in a pinch, though he usually hitchhiked. He thought a little cash flow might help him make headway with Sondra, and he’d had no trouble acquiring a fake driver’s license a few months back, having picked up some skills from observing his father. He still looked too young to hustle pool by himself, so, though it wasn’t his first choice, he decided a little honest work wouldn’t kill him, and would give him an air of legitimacy in Sondra’s eyes. All the cheeseburgers he could eat were a decent benefit, too. He even brought some home for Sammy at the end of his shifts, though the kid didn’t seem to appreciate it much. He could sulk over a cheeseburger as efficiently as over a can of pork ‘n beans. But he’d sullenly agreed to keep Dean’s local dealings from Dad, so it was all good.

The nearby “town” was podunk enough that Dean hadn’t bothered to learn its name, if it even merited one, but St. Helens was a decent-sized town within hitchhiking distance, if it turned out Sondra was the adventurous type interested in a little nightlife. Dean loved it when he was lucky enough to find girls with lax or absentee parents like hers. It was going to be a great summer.

Except for the ever-present question of Sam, that is. Dean wasn’t sure what to do with him. He was safe enough where they were, and he liked all the nature crap, so he should be happy and keeping himself busy in the woods while Dean worked and made time with Sondra. But lately Sam had started falling into a really black mood whenever Dad left for more than a day or two—not that he was much happier when Dad was dragging them all over the map. This time, after Dad left, he lay in his cot for two days and refused to do much of anything. Out of desperation, Dean had suggested they hike to a waterfall that was supposed to be a few miles away and had harangued Sam until he agreed. They’d never found the waterfall, and Dean had gotten two ticks that Sam had to pull off of him, but Sam seemed a little better.

Dean was almost asleep, having cooled off a bit after squirming out of his sleeping bag, when he heard Sam stir and get out of his cot. There was a bathroom in the cabin, and the shower and sink worked, but there was a hole in the floor where the toilet should be, so they had to use the outhouse out back. The place was not exactly well-maintained, which was why Dad had been able to rent it for next to nothing, and the owner conveniently didn’t ask too many questions.

So Dean thought Sam was just visiting the outhouse, but when he didn’t hear returning footsteps after several minutes, he started to worry. He was thinking of getting up and going after the damn kid when a wave of sleepiness overcame him. Sam would be fine, he thought, as he drifted off. He’d ask him where he’d gone in the morning.

When he woke, he forgot about Sam’s nighttime excursion in the face of his younger brother’s unexpectedly improved mood. Sam got up before him and was cooking breakfast. He heated up a can of Dinty Moore beef stew, a favorite that was kind of expensive, so Dad usually only bought a few cans. He chatted happily while they ate. It was almost weird—Dean hadn’t seen him this happy in years.

“So I hear there are river otters around here; I’m gonna hike along that big river today and see if I can find some.”

“What are ya gonna do with ‘em if you find any?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “ _Nothing,_ jerk-wad, I’m gonna _observe_ them. Otters are cool.” But he smiled then, and took Dean’s bowl to the sink along with his own.

Dean was definitely suspicious then, as Sam washed the bowls and pan, with no argument over who should wash up since he’d cooked. “What’s got you so stoked?” he asked finally.

“Nothing. It’s just… not so bad here,” Sam said.

***

Sondra couldn’t hang out that day, so Dean brought home cheeseburgers right after his shift ended at 6:00. To his surprise, Sam wasn’t there when he got home. Dean was a little troubled. Sam was usually very good about being home when he was supposed to—he never went anywhere when they stayed in a city or town—but Dean hadn’t actually set a time when Sam was supposed to be home. He guessed he’d have to do that. But it would be light for hours longer, so maybe it wasn’t a big deal. He could track Sam if he needed to. He didn’t have time to worry much, although he was getting bored by the time Sam trooped in an hour later. He was wet to his knees, muddy and a little scratched, but Dean didn’t have a chance to chew him out for being home late, because Sam started talking excitedly right away.

“It was awesome, Dean! I saw deer and a porcupine, and I found this family of river otters! They had babies, and they were teaching them to fish! I saw one of the big ones catch a big fish. They have this cool little house under the bank, made of reeds and mud. Once when the dad went in there…”

Dean stared as Sam continued his very uncharacteristic monologue. It dawned on him, after a while, what was disturbing him. Sam’s chatter was so… _normal._ And Dean couldn’t remember the last time Sam had talked like this. Literally—he wasn’t sure there _had_ been a time. And kids on TV talked that way—in happy families, so it had to be a good thing, right? Maybe they needed to get Sam out in nature every summer from now on.

They had an unusually pleasant evening. When it got dark, Sam busted out a little mini-telescope Dean hadn’t known he had, and they looked at the stars. Sam was still chatting about astronomy, river ecosystems, and otters when Dean started to drift off to sleep. When it got quiet for a minute, Dean said, “I’m glad you like it here, Sammy.”

“Yeah. You, too. How’s Sondra?”

“Good, I guess. I didn’t see her today. We’re supposed to hang out tomorrow. I don’t have to work.”

“Cool.”

It was just as hot and loud as the night before, but Dean had no trouble falling asleep.

***

Dean’s sleep was deep and sweet. He dreamed about his mother.

It had been a long time since he’d had a dream like this. He tried not to think about Mom too much. He knew Dad thought about her constantly, and the more he did, the more he drank, and the crazier and more dangerous his hunts became. So Dean thought it was probably good not to dwell on her that much. But sometimes, when he was hurt, lonely, or smarting from a fight with Dad or Sam, he’d remember little things. Her voice, and the way she laughed, instead of getting mad, when he ran from her when she tried to give him a bath. He dreamt about this now. He was running, and she was laughing behind him. She caught him and swept him up in her arms, tickling and kissing him as she carried him to the bathroom. And again she laughed, when he grabbed the bottle of bubble bath and dumped most of it under the faucet. Bubbles overflowed the tub, sparkling in odd colors, fountaining high, almost to the ceiling, and Dean was floating on them, and on his mother’s laughter…

He woke, sure for a moment that he had really just heard his mother laughing. But a different sound caught his ears and jerked him to awareness: the door of the cabin creaking shut.

He leaped out of bed, suddenly remembering Sam’s excursion the night before. He grabbed a flashlight from the table by the door and ran out, spotting Sam easily in the moonlight. He was moving strangely, with a slow, deliberate step, and not in the direction of the outhouse.

“Sam! Hey! What are you doing?” Dean ran up beside him and grabbed his brother’s arm.

“I’m easy,” Sam mumbled. He was passive, but he tried to keep walking, until Dean stood in front of him and stopped him.

“What?” Dean had heard their father use this phrase, particularly if they were guests at someone’s house, like Pastor Jim’s. (“White meat or dark for you, John?” “I’m easy.”) But he couldn’t recall Sam ever saying it, because it wasn’t true: he wasn’t “easy;” he was fussy about a number of things, and if asked his opinion, he’d make it known.

“ ’M easy,” Sam muttered again, more insistently, and tried to walk around Dean. Dean took hold of his shoulders and shook him.

“Sam! Wake up!”

And suddenly Dean was on the ground on his back; Sam had reacted so fast Dean wasn’t even sure what he’d done. He cursed, chiding himself for his lack of reflexes. Sam was nearly as well-trained as he was, of course, and naturally quick, but Dean was still bigger and more experienced. Sam rarely got the jump on him. “Jesus, Sam,” he complained, untangling his limbs and trying to rise.

“Dean?” Sam looked completely confused as he automatically gave Dean a hand up. “What the… what are you doing down there?”

“You tell me, genius, you put me there. Nice reflexes.”

“What? No I…” Sam stopped. “What are we doing out here?”

“You were sleepwalking. I just woke you up and you knocked me on my ass.”

“I didn’t touch you!”

“Whatever. C’mon. What were you dreaming about?” Dean turned to lead the way back toward the cabin, but Sam didn’t follow.

“I… don’t want to go in.”

“Well, crap, Sam, you have to. You can’t wander around in the dark.”

“You go ahead. I’ll just go for a little walk. I won’t get lost.”

“No, Sam!” Dean gripped Sam’s arm and steered him firmly back toward the cabin. Remembering suddenly, he asked, “Hey, did you do this last night? Where did you go?”

Sam yanked himself free of Dean’s grasp. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?” he wailed, and ran back to the cabin, slamming the door behind him.

It was just not Dean’s night. In addition to having to deal with Sam’s sudden attitude problem and the worry about his sleepwalking, he fell twice on the short trip back to the cabin. The second time, he scraped his arm up pretty good on the rough boards of the front step. It _was_ pretty dark out there; even though the moon was bright, the weird light produced a lot of shadows that could hide plenty of things to trip over. But Dean thought he would normally notice any obstacles, because of all Dad’s movement and tracking training. Maybe this was a growth-spurt thing, he reflected as he picked at the splinters in his arm. That adolescent awkwardness he’d heard so much about. He had grown a lot in the past few months, and was taller and looked older than most kids his age. Maybe that was why Sam had been able to knock him down, too.

Sam was sniffling in his cot when Dean finally made it back in. He refused to answer Dean’s questions about where he’d been going, or whether he’d also gone out the night before.

“Dammit, Sam, I’m just trying to do my job and keep you safe!”

“I don’t _need_ you to! All you do is make things worse!”

“Fine. Go to sleep, asshole.”

Sam pretended to, but Dean could feel that he was just waiting for him to fall asleep so he could sneak out again. They passed a miserable night. Sam tried to sneak out twice, and Dean dragged him back. The second time, he smacked Sam pretty hard and shoved him back on his cot roughly. He regretted it intensely as he lay in the dark, listening to Sam weep bitterly. He was completely out of his depth. He had never missed their mother more.

***

In the morning, Sam was still angry. He barely acknowledged Dean, even when Dean apologized for hitting him the night before and tried again to explain that he was just trying to protect Sam. He only showed signs of life, rather abruptly, when Dean offered to stay with him that day instead of going into town to see Sondra.

“That’s OK,” Sam said quickly. “I’m gonna go see the river otters again.”

“I could come with you.”

“Nah... two of us would probably be too noisy and scare them. You go see Sondra.”

Dean was torn. Sam was acting weird, keeping secrets, but then he’d kind of always been like that. And Dean really liked Sondra. He and Dad had swept the woods for any signs of monsters or other dangers, and the area was clean. What trouble could Sam really get into, looking at a couple of otters in the woods in broad daylight?

Finally, he relented, after extracting a firm promise from Sam that he would be home no later than 7:00. This limited Dean’s time with Sondra a little, but he should still get a few hours with her—and maybe she’d be home alone today. Dean grinned as he set off toward the highway, and Sam set off toward the deep woods.

He was definitely going to have to be more careful during his growth spurt or whatever this was. As he made the hike out to the highway, it seemed like every rock, tree root, overhanging branch, clump of weeds or patch of mud conspired to trip him, smack him in the face, or muck up his boots. He was going to be a mess when he finally got to Sondra’s house.

But he made it, and things seemed to go fine after he picked up a ride into town. He had a good day trying to get further with Sondra, who was indeed home alone and happy to see Dean. He might not score, but he was sure having a good time trying. By the time he headed home, he was again thinking this was the best summer yet.

He’d had such a good day that he was able to mostly ignore his continued, uncharacteristic clumsiness in the woods—at least until he was almost home. Then he tripped hard—again, over something he hadn’t even seen—and things went from bad to worse when he realized he’d fallen almost directly into a wasp nest.

“SHIT!” he screamed, scrambling away. He howled as he felt the white-hot stings in several places, running and slapping at the bugs. Instead of running to the cabin, he leapt into the river, wading to immerse himself so the wasps couldn’t reach him, and the ones that crawled into his clothes would drown. He waited several minutes for the wasps to leave, until his legs were numb with cold. He finally crawled out, slipping a few times on the muddy bank, cursing, bruised, scratched and stung.

“Dean!” Sam shouted. Dean saw him running toward him. “What happened? Are you OK?”

“Just _great,_ Sammy! These damn woods are trying to kill me!”

Sam’s reaction to this statement was stronger than Dean expected. He stopped dead in his tracks and clutched Dean’s arm. “What… what happened?”

“I just fell into a wasp nest and got stung about 20 times! I jumped into the river, and it is _freezing._ And I’ve tripped a bunch of times today, and last night, too. Must be going through a damn growth spurt or something, if even _you_ could knock me down.”

Sam was quiet until they got back to the cabin, but he didn’t let go of Dean’s arm, and Dean didn’t trip anymore, though his shoes were so muddy they had no traction at all. He undressed on the porch, leaving his muddy clothes in a pile. He sat shivering under a towel in a chair while Sam got the first aid kit, doctored the worst of his scrapes and dabbed Calamine lotion on the wasp stings.

“I didn’t push you last night. When you woke me up,” Sam said quietly. “I remember really clearly. I didn’t know where I was when you shook me awake. I was holding onto your arms, then suddenly you were gone. I looked down and you were on your back.”

Dean was about to snap back at his brother, but stopped. It wasn’t like Sam to try to evade blame—honestly, even if he wasn’t sure, he’d probably just have assumed Dean was right that he’d knocked him down. “Did you sweep my leg or something?”

“No. I didn’t. I didn’t do anything.”

Neither of them could think of anything to say. Dean put on some old sweats and got his clothes into the shower to rinse off the mud. He wrung them out and hung them over the porch railing. By the time he was done, Sam had heated up some pork ‘n beans and opened a can of fruit cocktail.

“Good otter watching today?” Dean finally asked, trying to keep the resentment out of his voice.

“Yeah, it was great.” Sam cleared his throat. “Ummm… hey. I did something else. I met one of our neighbors. She’s really nice. She made me… us cookies. I almost forgot. Want one?”

“Yeah, I want one! Gonna eat ‘em all yourself, were you?”

“Nah, I just forgot. There’s plenty. Here.” He handed Dean an old-fashioned cookie tin. Dean opened it and took a bite without even looking at it. He paused, chewing. It was hands-down the best cookie he’d ever eaten. It tasted like apple spice or something. He peered in the tin. There was another kind, sort of dark and sugared; Dean bit into it. He didn’t have a lot of experience with cookies, but he thought this tasted like something he’d had before—molasses, maybe? It was at least as delicious as the first cookie.

“Wow, these are great. Who is this lady?”

“Her name’s Maisie. She lives a couple miles further into the woods. Her kids are at summer camp right now.”

“Why would you need to go to camp if you live _here?”_ Dean asked grumpily. But the cookies were going a long way toward improving his mood.

They were quiet for a while, as Dean ate cookies until he felt slightly sick. They were awesome.

“Get anywhere with Sondra today?” Sam asked finally.

“Like I’d tell _you._ You’re too young for that stuff.”

“So are you!”

“I am not! I’m highly mature for my age.”

Dean thought about roughing Sam up for snorting at that, but he was still treading carefully, and satisfied himself with a mere, insincere glare.

“Dean,” Sam said seriously after a moment. “I promise I won’t try to go anywhere tonight. I’m sorry.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably. Even when he was mad at Sam, he didn’t like it when he apologized. “No biggie. Where were you going, anyway?”

Sam frowned. “Umm… I must have been still a little asleep… I don’t remember.”

“Dude, you tried to get up like four times after I brought you back in. What did you want?”

Sam looked even more troubled. “I really don’t… it’s weird. I just don’t remember.”

“Huh.” Dean was troubled, too, but didn’t see what he could do about it. Things were better, and he saw no need to rock the boat.

***

Dean slept poorly again that night. The mosquitoes—more had entered the cabin, though Sam didn’t seem bothered by them—seemed to persecute him deliberately. He covered his ears to keep out the increasingly frequent, infuriating buzzes, but then he got too hot. When he finally fell asleep, he was soon startled awake by a scraping sound. He sat up quickly, and saw that Sam’s bed was empty.

Cursing, he jammed his shoes on and scrambled out of the cabin. He was getting so used to his newfound clumsiness that he barely noticed when he did a face-plant off the front step. He picked himself up, looked around wildly, and saw Sam shuffling into the woods. Luckily, the moon was bright again, and his brother cast a strong shadow against the silvered bracken under the trees.

“Damn it! Sam—” He started to shout his brother’s name, but strangled the sound quickly. He took a moment to think as he hurried after Sam. Sam had promised not to leave that night, and he did not break promises. He could be incredibly stubborn and rebellious, and even sneaky, but if he made a promise, he kept it. So he was obviously sleepwalking again. This was confirmed as he caught up with Sam—taking care not to trip, and still stumbling frequently, Dean could never have caught him if Sam were moving normally. He was also easily making enough noise to alert Sam to his presence, even if Sam _hadn’t_ been trained in observation and tracking, but Sam shuffled forward steadily without turning his head, even as Dean staggered close to him.

Dean realized there was one sure way to find out where Sam had wanted to go the night before. So he stayed back several feet and tried to keep to cover as he followed Sam. He moved as carefully as he knew how, watching the ground as he moved, and managed to avoid any bad falls, although tree branches almost seemed to reach out to slap and scratch at his face.

Dean was panting with the effort of fighting the forest’s many obstacles by the time they reached Sam’s destination, after almost two miles. He couldn’t tell where Sam was headed at first; it looked like he was trying to walk into a little hillock. Then he realized it was actually an extremely dilapidated cabin. Dean was surprised it was still standing. He crouched next to a large stump as he took in the sight of the leaning pile of old boards and logs, covered with moss and vines that curled through the remains of broken windows. He could barely tell where the door was, but Sam knew. He walked directly to it, and it opened, though in the shadows, Dean couldn’t see Sam touch it.

Dean was alarmed. Was the cabin even safe? Clearly it was empty, but it looked in danger of collapsing any moment. He was suddenly filled with a terrible dread. Despite the muggy heat of the night, he felt chilled to his bones. His naturally logical mind rejected these feelings, but he remembered his father’s teachings.

_“Dean, listen to me. You know how people talk about feeling like someone’s watching them? Or they say they have a bad feeling, or get a chill up their spine? You ever feel like that, you pay attention. Those instincts are there for a reason, and they’ve saved my neck more’n a few times. If you think something’s watching you, it probably is, and you gotta assume that something means you harm until you know otherwise.”_

Something meant him harm. It came together for Dean then. All his falls and scrapes. The wasps. How Sam was always fine, even staggering through the woods in his sleep, but Dean wasn’t. He felt a cold terror wash over him, and he knew he had to get his brother out of that cabin _now_ and take him somewhere safe. He started to creep forward, but his legs felt like lead, and somehow some bracken had twined itself around his arm. He fought a rising tide of panic and started to struggle, but stopped dead when he heard Sam’s voice clearly through the cabin’s broken windows.

“Hi, Maisie!” Sam said brightly. “Thanks for the cookies! Dean really liked them, too.”

Maisie! It was a name, and that’s what Sam had been saying when Dean first caught him sleepwalking. Not “I’m easy.” Dean couldn’t hear any response, and what’s more, he was sure Sam was alone in the cabin. There was no sign of movement, not even Sam’s. He was pretty sure Sam was just standing there, right inside the doorway, but he kept talking.

“Of course I shared them with him! He’s my brother. We share everything… no, Maisie! Dean is cool. He takes care of me more than Dad does, even though he’s still a kid, too. No, he’s just pretending to be old enough…”

Sam sounded troubled. He paused for a long moment. “Please let Dean visit you too, Maisie,” he said finally. “When he sees how nice you are, he’ll let me come whenever I want. And he doesn’t have anyone to make him nice food, either…”

Dean felt… strange. He struggled to understand the situation. Sam was talking in his sleep. There was no one else there. He needed to just get his brother and go home. So why wasn’t he? He felt… sleepy? He didn’t remember sitting down, but he was leaning against the stump, resting his head as if it were too heavy to lift…

“You did that to him? No, Maisie! You can’t! I won’t visit you anymore if you hurt Dean! He wouldn’t…”

Sam’s voice faded out as Dean fought the wave of sleep that washed over him. He couldn’t remember what he was so worried about. The knot of dread in his belly was surely a mistake. He was safe. Sam was safe. Mother was here…

***

Sam trotted happily through the woods to visit his friend. The day was bright and birds were singing. He was struck again by what a beautiful place they’d come to this summer. He really liked these woods. There was so much to look at, and do, and Maisie… well, she was the best part.

His heart lifted as Maisie’s neat, well-appointed cabin came into sight. The large garden patch out front was burgeoning, and the window boxes overflowed with flowers. It seemed like the ideal place to live. Maybe he and Dean could stay here every summer—or just he could, if Dean wanted to hunt with Dad—but he pushed all thoughts of his life away as he tripped up the steps and raised his hand to knock on Maisie’s door.

She opened it before he could knock. “Sam! How lovely to see you! Do come in.”

She always spoke this way, and her cabin matched her genteel demeanor. Sam had never been anyplace like it, or met anyone like her, but he wished he had. He wished this was what the rest of the world was like. He wrapped his arms around Maisie’s waist as she hugged him gently. He wasn’t sure why he felt so warm and safe when she did that. He normally didn’t like being hugged that much. Dean never did anymore, and when Dad did, it was always too hard and it gave Sam an uncomfortable feeling, like Dad was scared, or sad, or desperately wanted something Sam didn’t know how to give him.

Maisie just hugged him, and rested her hand on his hair, and never let him go before he was ready. She smelled nice, sort of soapy, and Sam thought she was so pretty, in her neat, old-fashioned dress and apron, with her fair skin, big dark eyes, and curly brown hair coming out of its bun in wisps. He didn’t exactly understand the way she made him feel, but he craved it. He simultaneously felt terribly jealous of her kids and wondered if he would ever get to meet them. Maybe they would come back from camp before he and Dean had to leave. Maybe, even, if Dad met Maisie, he’d see how nice and responsible she was, and he’d let Sam stay with her for the next school year, or even just until Christmas. Then Dean wouldn’t have to worry about taking care of him all the time and could hunt with Dad like he wanted.

“Now, how about some breakfast, Sam?” She never called him Sammy, knowing he didn’t like it.

“You don’t always have to feed me, Maisie. I had some pork ‘n beans.”

“Nonsense. A growing boy needs good provision, and can’t be eating out of tins all the time. Now, wash your hands, please.” She smiled as she said it, and Sam didn’t feel like she was treating him like a dumb little kid.

He washed his hands and sat down at the table. He didn’t always recognize the types of things Maisie gave him to eat—it was never just cereal or eggs and toast for breakfast, for example—but he always liked them. This was some sort of porridge and a slice of homemade bread.

“It’s a lovely day, and I’m thinking of doing a little gardening,” Maisie said, standing in the kitchen with her hands primly folded. She never ate with him.

It was always a lovely day when he came to Maisie’s, Sam reflected. It was a bit odd. They were deep in the woods, and northern Oregon wasn’t exactly the sunniest place, but somehow, there was always sun streaming through the windows, bright on the whitewashed walls and neatly-swept, worn-pale floorboards.

“I’ll help you,” Sam said instantly. He always wanted to do whatever he could for Maisie.

“Only if you’re sure you wouldn’t rather play,” Maisie said demurely. “Jeremiah has a very nice erector set that we ordered from a catalog that I’m sure you would enjoy. You’re a bright boy, like he is.”

Sam had no idea what an erector set was, but he was sure he’d like to play with one, even though the whole concept of “play” was a little strange. Neither Dad nor Dean ever used the word.

“No, I’ll help you. I can weed,” Sam said. He felt like he should be as useful to Maisie as possible, plus he liked to be near her. Also, the only time Maisie had made him feel a little weird was when she’d insisted he play with some carved wooden figures that she had. She had stood watching him without speaking the whole time, and Sam was really self-conscious. He thought she had a bit of a weird look on her face, like she might cry.

“Of course you can. You’re good with the plants,” Maisie said kindly. She put on a broad-brimmed straw hat and gathered her gardening supplies as Sam finished his breakfast. She stopped him when he started to wash his bowl and spoon.

“That’s for me to do, don’t you worry about it. Come, my sugar snap peas are waiting,” she said brightly.

They worked in the garden all morning, and Sam couldn’t be happier. Maisie made lunch, and when Sam washed up to eat, she noticed some scratches he’d gotten and fussed over them, insisting on cleaning them and putting something brown and strange-smelling on them. She also fussed over the state of Sam’s clothes, though they seemed fine to Sam. She thought he needed “some proper dungarees”, whatever those were.

“Now, run and play,” she said. “I’m sure the otters will do something fascinating today.” She smoothed his hair. “And…” She hesitated. “Sam, I think you should spend the night here tonight. I’ll fix you a proper supper, and you can sleep in Jeremiah’s bed.”

Sam really wanted to. But his father had firm rules about that. He and Dean were never allowed to spend the night anywhere but where he’d specified, and certainly not in another person’s home without his express permission. “I can’t, Maisie. Dean will worry if I’m not home on time, and I shouldn’t leave him by himself.”

“He left _you_ by yourself,” Maisie said. For the first time since Sam had met her, she sounded angry.

Sam was too surprised to answer for a moment. “Well… not really. I mean, I know where he is. And he never leaves me alone overnight.” Well… there had been a time or two, actually, with Dad. Sam thought he shouldn’t mention that.

Maisie only clucked disapprovingly. “Are you sure you won’t play with the erector set?” she said, with an odd sort of longing in her voice.

Sam shuffled awkwardly for a moment. “Um. No. I… think I’ll go see the otters.”

“All right then, dear.” She kissed his forehead, which was a first. Sam had no name for the warmth and tender feeling this created in him. He stood still for a moment while Maisie bustled back into the kitchen, then he hurried out the door to head for the river.

***

Dean had two thoughts when he awoke, one completely contradicting the other. The first was that something was very wrong—for him, and for Sam. He had to do something about it. If he could remember what it was…

The second thought was that his mother had just been there, and that he was very happy. Where had she been? Where was he? He sat up and looked around. He was right where he should be: in his cot in their cabin. But hadn’t he and Sam just been somewhere else?

He looked quickly over at Sam’s cot. Sam was there, still asleep. Dean shook his head, trying to clear it. He stared at Sam for a moment, then noticed something.

Sam was fully dressed, which was not that unusual. But his hiking boots were on, which was. They were also muddy.

Dean looked down at himself. He, too, was fully dressed, wearing his muddy boots, but he was also scratched up, disheveled, and bruised. His shirt was even torn in a few places, and his head ached. What had happened to him?

“Sam,” Dean said, “wake up.”

Sam woke up immediately, though he rubbed his eyes blearily and was slow to respond. “What’s the matter?” he muttered finally.

“You tell me. Where did you go last night?”

Sam frowned, looking a little petulant. “Nowhere. I promised, didn’t I?”

“Sam…” Dean pointed at Sam’s feet.

“What?” Sam said defensively, then looked down at himself. “I.. what? I didn’t…”

“It’s OK, Sam,” Dean said, more seriously than he meant to. He was trying to sound confident and adult. “Me, too, see?” He gestured at himself. “Something weird is going on. I don’t remember anything.”

Sam looked frightened. He was peering at Dean intently. “Hey, Dean, you… you have a black eye. When did you get that? Your face is scratched, too…”

Dean automatically put his hand to his face, and winced as the touch stung. “Must’ve been last night.” He was quiet for a long moment. “Sam, something’s happening. Clearly we both went somewhere last night, and neither of us can remember. We… we have to assume it’s dangerous—”

“Especially since you’re hurt,” Sam said quickly.

“Right,” Dean said uncomfortably. “Not really, but… right. Anyway… Dad’s not here, and I doubt he could get back in time even if we can get a message to him. So we have to investigate this ourselves. So, I gotta ask, Sammy. Anything you know that I don’t know? Is there anything you need to tell me?”

Sam frowned miserably. His mouth turned downward in that wounded-puppy way that made ladies at schools want to take care of him, and give Dad dirty looks whenever he showed up to pick them up. But as Sam frowned, thinking, Dean saw his face crumple into fear.

“I… I feel like there _is_ something I should tell you. But I can’t remember what it is!”

“It’s OK, Sam. Just… try. What’s the last thing you remember last night?”

Sam thought for a moment. “Trying to fall asleep, listening to you slap at mosquitoes.”

Dean nodded. That was one of the last things he remembered, too. Then an image came to him… his mother’s face, comforting… “What did you dream about?” he asked Sam.

Sam looked surprised. “I dreamt about… about Maisie!”

“Who?” Dean didn’t remember ever hearing the name before.

Sam was excited, in an odd way. He seemed caught between worry and excited happiness. “Our neighbor, remember? She…” He paused and looked pained, holding his head. “There was… yeah! The cookies, remember?” Sam scrambled off his cot and went to the folding table in the kitchen area. He picked up a cookie tin and opened it, bringing it over to Dean. It was empty, but there were crumbs clinging to the bottom.

“She made us cookies…” Sam spoke slowly as he tried to remember. “She gave them to me, and… and she’s really nice! I wanted you to meet her…”

Dean watched Sam closely. His own head was clearing, and he vaguely remembered the cookies, though it seemed like something that had happened a long time ago, rather than just a day or two before. But Sam’s behavior was strange, and Dean’s response was strange… why did he feel like there was so much he couldn’t remember? And the feeling of dread in his belly… what had he been so worried about just a moment before?

“So, this Maisie lady… how often have you talked to her?”

“A bunch of times!” Sam was brightening visibly, and his foggy manner melted away as he spoke. “She’s really nice to me. She has a garden and a nice cabin, and she makes me lunch every day. I really want you to meet her, Dean!”

“OK,” Dean said slowly. They might as well start there, he thought. Maybe it would help him figure things out. “Let’s go see her right now.”

***

Sam perked up visibly, growing happier the deeper into the woods they went. He led Dean confidently along some path only he could see. The light was dim under a grimly overcast sky. Dean thought it likely that they’d get caught in a summer storm before they made it back home.

There was something familiar about the area Sam took them through. Dean walked behind Sam and looked around carefully, using all the skills his father had taught him to observe everything and absorb all the details. The first thing he noticed was that all his recently-acquired clumsiness was gone. He had no trouble avoiding obstacles, though he remembered, he was sure, tripping and getting scratched up in this exact place. He stopped Sam at one point.

“Look,” he said. There was a bit of fabric clinging to a scrubby pine sapling. Dean plucked it from the branch and held it up to his shirt. It was the same fabric. “We were here last night, Sammy.”

Sam stared at him for a moment, his happiness deflating slightly. But he perked up as he looked ahead. “We’re almost there,” he said.

He trotted ahead, moving quickly, and Dean had to scramble to keep up. Sam led them into a large clearing. Dean’s stomach clenched at what he saw there. He knew he’d seen the broken-down cabin before. But Sam acted shocked at the sight.

“What… this isn’t right… where…” Sam looked around frantically. He rushed over to one side of the clearing, opposite the cabin. “The well…” It was there, its stone top barely visible through a patch of ferns and a nest of old bracken. “The garden patch should be right there.”

Sam pointed to the ground at Dean’s feet. Dean toed the undergrowth and noticed some unusual plants there. He leaned closer, and saw some ripening strawberries among the leaves. “I think there _was_ a garden, Sam, but it’s long gone,” he said hesitantly. “This… Maisie. She lives here?”He glanced doubtfully at the cabin.

“I… I thought she did,” Sam said tremulously. “But this isn’t what it looked like. It was really nice.”

He moved hesitantly toward the front porch, and Dean followed him. “Be careful,” Dean warned as Sam reached for the door.

It came open more easily than Dean expected. Clearly it had been opened recently. There was a track scratched in the dirt on the porch.

Inside, the cabin was a mess of rotted wood, the broken remains of furniture, bird nests and the droppings of small animals. Stepping carefully around gaps in the broken floor, Dean tried to open the more-or-less-intact door to another room. It resisted his efforts, and when he finally forced it open, he heard an angry chattering and looked to the window just in time to see a raccoon’s tail disappear through it. There was a rotting mattress on the floor with a large nest dug into the center of it.

Dean came back out into the living room. Sam stood, looking stricken, staring around himself uncomprehendingly.

“Sam,” Dean said gently, “No one has lived here for a really long time. I think… I think Maisie is a ghost.”

“No!”

“I think she made you sleepwalk here. I guess she likes you. But she doesn’t like me.” He gestured at his black eye. “Sam, we have to…”

“She just doesn’t know you! She… she…” Sam spoke quickly, and Dean knew it was to stop him from saying what he’d been about to say. “She said she would take care of you, too. She didn’t understand at first. She thought you were mean to me. She thought you were older. She’s mad at Dad, but she’s not mad at you anymore…”

“Take care of me? I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” Dean said sharply. “And neither do you, Sam. _I_ take care of you. And Dad takes care of us both just fine. We don’t need anyone else.”

Sam looked like he was about to cry. “She was _real,_ Dean. She’s good. She makes me food and _listens_ to me! This is your fault! You ruin everything! You… you made her not real!” He _did_ cry then, looking around frantically like he wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go.

Dean stepped toward him, and then stopped. Sam froze, too. A wind blew through the cabin, bitter cold in contrast to the hot summer day, and Dean saw his breath fog the air for a moment before he felt powerfully sleepy again. He fought to stay upright as the wind… painted the cabin into something else. The dirt, bracken and broken boards were swept away, replaced by a pale, clean floor decorated with rag rugs. The broken windows seemed to mend themselves. Sunlight poured through the windows. A nice, neat cabin took the place of the wreck that had been there moments before.

“It’s all right, Sam,” said a gentle, feminine voice. A woman paced gracefully into the room and embraced Sam. Dean struggled to reach Sam, to get this stranger away from him, but he couldn’t move as he watched Sam hug the woman back, his face buried in her shoulder as he wept desperately.

“I’m still here, Sam,” she said softly, and Dean was finding it harder and harder to be angry with her. She just seemed so… kind. “And Dean,” she said quietly. “It’s time I met you. Welcome.” She released Sam and walked to Dean, her hand outstretched.

Dean tried to flinch back, but she touched his face gently, and he was home.

She smiled kindly into his eyes. “You boys are just in time. Would you like a slice of my strawberry rhubarb pie? I intend to enter it in the county fair baking contest this year, and I must test it out first.”

The cabin was filled with delicious scents. Sam happily went to the basin in the corner and washed his hands before sitting down at the table, as if he’d been doing it all his life. And hadn’t he, Dean wondered? Wasn’t this something he should… _did_ have? Dean struggled with strange, contradictory feelings… he felt that he must stay alert in the face of excitement mixed with sleepiness, dread mixed with happy contentment, fear and longing, safe familiarity and instinctual revulsion.

A sharply pleasant hunger interrupted all these feelings, and Dean couldn’t remember what he was supposed to be doing, except that it was polite to wash his hands and sit down, which he did.

“There, that’s better!” said Maisie brightly. She set a plate in front of Dean and one in front of Sam. Dean’s mouth watered as he looked at his. It was a large slice of pie with thick, crumbling golden crust, its fruit filling oozing out and mixing with the cream it was slathered with—not whipped cream, but liquid—turning it pink. Dean had no vocabulary to describe the heavenly scent rising from the plate.

He glanced at Sam, who happily said, “Thank you, Maisie!” and dug right into his pie. Dean had rarely seen Sam look happier… so why did he think he’d been crying a moment before?

Somehow it didn’t matter as Dean hesitantly took a bite of pie. Again, there were no words. It tasted like… everything Dean had ever wanted and could never have. It warmed him to his toes and soothed every hurt he’d ever felt, and the only thing he could think was that he wanted exactly this, and nothing else, forever.

A golden, perfect afternoon passed. Dean had never liked having his hurts fussed over—not that anyone usually did. But when Maisie clucked over his black eye and made him a cold compress for it, washed his scratches and gently scolded him for “playing rough,” he submitted docilely to her attentions. He felt… too big, and awkward, and like this was all exactly right. When Maisie finished doctoring him and hugged him kindly with one arm, he leaned into her and rested his face in her shoulder. He stayed there as long as she let him.

Everything felt good. As Dean did chores, copied passages from a book onto an odd mini-chalkboard, played with wooden figures (forgetting that he was much too old for such activity), chased Sam around the garden patch, and received a scolding for coming into the cabin with muddy boots, all thoughts of ever doing anything else dissolved like smoke on the wind. This was his life—always had been, and always would be.

Sam and Dean ate a wonderful supper, and Mother put them to bed, tucked warmly into a feather tick with a sunny yellow quilt over them. First she made them kneel and say prayers, then she kissed them each and wished them a good night. Nestled against his brother, Dean knew that, whatever had come before, whatever fading pain, fear, and sadness he had felt in his life, all was now right with the world.

***

Sam slowly crawled awake, through a thick mud of dreams. They had started off beautiful and turned frightening. The well—had he left the cover off the well? He must go and put it back on, or someone could fall in. Mother would be upset, and if she was, she wouldn’t stay with them. He was so lonely when she was gone. He had to keep her at home!

He got out of bed and headed for the well. If he put the cover on now, no one would ever know he’d left it off. He found the heavy wooden cover and struggled to lift it. He’d never done it by himself before. His brother had always helped him. The cover was so heavy. Sam crumpled beneath its weight. The well gaped black beneath him, like a mouth that wanted to swallow him…

***

Dean was startled awake, shouting in surprise. A loud crash of thunder had woken him, and now he saw a bright flash of lightning… through the ceiling? He realized suddenly that he was wet, and freezing cold. Why hadn’t he woken before?

He scrambled to his feet, trying to figure out where he was. The broken down cabin! He’d been lying on the ruined mattress, among the bracken from the raccoon’s nest. A furious storm was going on outside, and rain had blown in from the broken windows and gaps in the ruined roof and walls, soaking Dean to the skin.

Panic gripped him suddenly. Where was Sam? He struggled to reach the door of the cabin, dodging the slippery mess of animal’s nests and gaps in the broken floor.

“SAM!” he shouted when he reached the porch. He kept screaming his brother’s name as loud as he could, praying he could be heard over the noise of the storm.

Dean had never been in a hurricane, but he imagined this was what it would be like. He could hardly stand upright in the violent wind. The rain was so heavy it was like standing under a waterfall—one that pelted him with stinging spray. He would have been blind in the dark but for the flashes of lightning, bright as day, every two or three seconds. The thunder was deafening.

“SAM!” he screamed again, peering around again—and in a bright flash he saw his brother’s silhouette, poised on the edge of the vine-shrouded well.

Dean pelted toward him as fast as he could. Was Sam going to jump in? “SAM! NO!” he screamed, and surged forward, but shouted in pain as he violently struck an invisible wall and was thrown forcefully to the ground. Bracken filled his mouth as he tried to scream.

In another flash, Sam’s silhouette seemed to hesitate, and Dean saw another figure approaching him. It was a woman in long, ragged gown, torn ribbons fluttering in the wind, her long, loose hair whipping wildly about her head.

“Jeremiah!” she wailed, as she reached for Sam. “No, baby!”

Dean thought she was about to reach Sam, about to pull him back from the mouth of the well, but she winked out, like a staticky picture on an old black-and-white TV set. Her wails filled the air, even above the noise of the storm, and Dean was suddenly free.

He stumbled to his feet and sprinted for the well, crying out desperately as Sam collapsed, apparently unconscious. Dean reached his brother just as he started to slither over the edge of the well. He seized him by the arms and hauled him backward as hard as he could, but an invisible force fought him. Sam’s legs dangled over the black abyss, and they were both suddenly jerked forward, sucked halfway into the maw of the well.

Sam came awake then, gasping and clinging to Dean. “Sam!” Dean shouted. “Brace with your feet! C’mon, bro, help me! It’s sucking us in!”

Sam tried, but his feet flailed at nothing. Dean braced his own feet and tried with all his strength to drag his brother back, but they both slipped forward, and Dean barely caught his knees on the brim of the well, keeping them from plummeting.

“Maisie!” Sam screamed suddenly. “Maisie, let us go! It’s not your fault!”

“What the hell are you talking about? Of course it’s her fault!” Dean said. Sam ignored him.

“It’s not your fault they fell in the well! They forgive you! I forgive you!”

Dean had no idea what Sam was talking about, but maybe it was buying them some time. He hauled hard on Sam, and made an inch or two of progress, bracing his knees more firmly against the mouth of the well.

“Please, Maisie! I know you don’t want to hurt us! You want to take care of us!”

Suddenly the force pulling them into the well slackened. Dean hauled Sam most of the way out before they were caught again. Maisie’s wails filled their ears, though they couldn’t see her.

“Let us go, Maisie! We’ll come back and see you—we promise!” Sam shouted.

There was no response but the moaning wind. “You have to promise, too,” Sam shouted in Dean’s ear.

“What? No way!” But Dean gripped Sam harder as he felt the force pulling at them renew its efforts.

“You have to, Dean! Trust me! Tell her you’re not mad at her!”

“I’m not mad, Maisie!” Dean shouted. He glanced at Sam, clutched against his chest. Sam nodded encouragingly. “Just, umm... let us go, and we’ll visit you! I promise!”

The terrible pull lessened, then released entirely, and Dean went flying backward, dragging Sam with him. They landed in a tangled heap several feet from the well.

“C’mon!” Dean shouted, dragging himself upright. He pulled Sam to his feet and booked it as fast as he could away from the clearing. He wasn’t even sure they were going in the right direction; he just knew they had to get away. Slipping in the mud and wet leaves, he ran as hard as he could for several minutes, gripping Sam’s arm tightly to bring him with him.

He paused to think, then corrected his direction slightly. He got them back to the cabin, thrust Sam roughly inside, and searched frantically for the bag of salt. He made a salt line al around the cabin, double-checking the windows and doors, then finally turned to Sam, who just stood, staring at him with wide eyes.

“WHAT THE HELL, Sam?” Dean seized his brother and shook him. “What the hell is going on? How… how did you know… what the hell?!”

“Her children drowned in the well,” Sam said quietly.

Dean stopped shaking him. The look on Sam’s face cracked him open. He held onto his shoulders for a moment, then sat him down on the cot. He sat next to him without speaking.

“She wanted us to be her new sons,” Sam said, after a long moment. His eyes were wet. “She… she just wants someone to take care of. So she can do it right this time.”

“She’s a _ghost,_ Sam,” Dean sighed. He rubbed Sam’s back hesitantly; it hurt too much not to. “A vengeful spirit.”

“I know. But… she wasn’t going to hurt us. I don’t think she knows she’s a ghost. She just… recreated what happened. She was trying to make it more like she wishes it was, but then… I don’t know. Maybe she can’t. Maybe she just makes it happen over and over again.”

“We have to put her to rest, Sam. Find where she’s buried, and salt and burn her bones.”

“I know,” Sam sighed. “She… she was really nice to me, Dean.” His head drooped against Dean’s shoulder.

Dean put his arm around Sam. He was filled with pain and regret; he didn’t understand exactly what for. But he knew his duty. “Tomorrow, I’ll try to find the town’s death records. See if I can figure out where she’s buried.”

“She’s at the bottom of the well,” Sam said.

Dean looked at him sharply.

“She told me everything. When… when I thought she was real. Just a neighbor lady. She told it like it happened to someone else. She was… she was talking about Dad, and why she doesn’t like parents who leave their children alone. She said she had a relative who lost her kids that way.”

Sam looked up at Dean. His face looked pinched and pale, younger than his years, more haunted than anyone should ever look, let alone a little kid. Dean thought, for about the millionth time in his life, that Sam was just too young for all of this.

“She was too young to be responsible, she said,” Sam continued. “Just 15 when she got pregnant with Jeremiah, and her dad made her get married. But the guy ran off to California after her second baby was born, to prospect for gold. Maisie was alone, and she… she didn’t want to be a housewife. She wanted to…” Sam struggled, as if he didn’t have the vocabulary for this. “She wanted to be a teenager, I guess. She said she was part of… the wild crowd. They liked to drink at the bar in town, and Maisie liked to sing with the piano player there. But I guess… that was bad back then? She wasn’t supposed to do it. When Jeremiah was old enough to take care of the littler boy, she left them alone and snuck into town whenever she could.”

Sam paused. “She said… Maisie said her relative didn’t mean any harm, and she loved her children, but she paid for being irresponsible. One day she came back from a party in town, and couldn’t find her kids. Then she noticed the cover was off the well. She looked in, and they were at the bottom. Jeremiah was face down with a rope around his foot. The younger one fell in, and he… he dived in and tried to get him out. But he drowned, too. He was only 11, and small. He… wasn’t strong enough to pull his brother out.”

Dean was frozen with horror. He knew what he’d do if Sam was at the bottom of a well. He’d just about proven it that night. He thought about how he’d felt, holding onto Sam while they both got dragged down. He knew he’d never, ever have let go. If Sam wasn’t coming out, he wouldn’t, either.

He hugged Sam hard for a minute. Neither of them said anything. Finally, Dean asked. “Why… why do you think Maisie’s bones are in the well, too?”

Sam’s face crumpled. “That was the end of the story,” he whispered. “When she saw her children drowned, she went crazy. She got drunk and drowned herself in the well.”

He looked up at Dean, and his face was pleading. “She… Maisie said her relative got what she deserved. She said… parents should always put their children first. Dean…” He hesitated. “I don’t want to. But… we have to put her to rest before Dad gets back. She hates him. I think… I think that might have been what woke her up. She can’t forgive herself for neglecting her children, and she wants revenge on neglectful parents. Dad left us here, so….” Sam gulped. “I think she would hurt him, if he got back and she was still around.”

“Well, we’ll take care of it. I’ve seen Dad do it plenty of times. I’ll load up the shotgun with rock salt in case she gives us any trouble.”

Sam winced. He was quiet for a long minute. “At first, she was mad at you,” he continued. “That’s why you kept falling and getting stung by wasps and stuff. But I got mad at her and told her you were just a kid, too. She said Dad shouldn’t have left you alone to take care of me, and… and she wanted to take care of you, too.”

“So I stopped getting hurt. Until I started figuring it out.”

“Right. So she tried to show us what she wanted to do for us, since she couldn’t do it for her kids. But when I almost fell in the well… I think she wanted us to be ghosts, too. So she could take care of us forever. But she’s confused, and scared. She doesn’t want to hurt us—”

“She wouldn’t, if she was a person, Sam. But she’s a ghost. Dad says vengeful spirits are always bad. We can’t get fooled by her.”

“I know,” Sam said, and there was a world of sadness, far beyond his years, in his eyes and in his voice.

Dean didn’t know what else to say. He clapped Sam’s shoulder roughly and went to check the salt lines. Finally, he said, “It’s gonna be hard to get the bones out of the well. Not sure how we’ll do that. Depending on how deep the water is…”

“I don’t think there’s any water in there. I think the well is dry. That’s how I first figured out Maisie was the person she told the story about… I looked in the well, and it was dry, and I saw bones sticking up through the dirt.”

Dean looked at his brother gravely as he sat back down on his cot. “Sam… why didn’t you tell me? About any of this.”

“I… I meant to. I didn’t mean to keep it secret. It’s like, every time I figured something out, Maisie made me forget it… I’m still just remembering stuff, and it seems like I learned it a long time ago. I didn’t know ghosts could do that.”

“Yeah. Dad will want to put it in his journal.”

Sam looked troubled. Dean knew he didn’t want to tell Dad about Maisie at all. But he said nothing, and Dean didn’t push it. “I forgot stuff, too. I think it’s only the salt lines that are keeping us from forgetting right now,” Dean said.

“How are we going to keep from forgetting while we… while we burn her bones?”

Dean thought for a minute. “We have some charm bags. We can fill them with salt and wear them around our necks. Or iron might help, too. If the salt needs to touch our skin, we could just soak some string in salt water and wear it as bracelets.”

Sam looked impressed. “Hey, that’s pretty smart, Dean.”

Dean glared at him. “You don’t have to be a nerd to figure stuff out,” he muttered.

“I have some bike chain that has iron in it. I could make us bracelets of that, and we can soak bandanas in salt water for that part of it.”

Dean smiled and tousled Sam’s hair. “I guess being a nerd is pretty useful, too.”

The next morning, Sam didn’t eat breakfast, and he was very quiet as he helped Dean with preparations for putting Maisie to rest. His eyes were red. Dean didn’t say anything, but kept finding excuses to pat Sam on the back or ruffle his hair.

They left the cabin, trepidatiously, once their preparations were complete. It was a quiet, gray day, and wreckage from the storm was everywhere. Shredded foliage, fallen tree branches, and mud made the hike a tricky one. Dean was extra careful, but his ghost-created clumsiness didn’t return.

Dean clutched Sam’s arm instinctively the moment they reached the clearing, his eyes glued to the well. Sam held on, too. They stood staring for a moment, then Dean took a hesitant step toward the well, releasing Sam’s arm. “You stay back,” he said.

“No,” said Sam stubbornly, grabbing Dean’s arm again.

“Damn it, Sam…”

“Don’t argue, boys.”

Sam gasped and Dean jumped, clutching his arm. Maisie stood in the clearing. In one quick motion, Dean snatched the shotgun that was slung across his back, cocked it, and aimed it at her.

“Dean!” Maise remonstrated gently. “That’s very rude.”

“Maisie…” Sam choked.

Dean shot him an alarmed glance as he lowered the gun reluctantly. Sam was crying.

“Oh, Sam…” Maisie came forward with her arms out, and Sam turned toward her, but Dean stepped between them and raised the shotgun again.

“Stay back,” he warned. He tried to growl the words, but his recently-changed voice betrayed him, cracking embarrassingly.

Maisie just looked at him with unfathomable sadness. She was barely transparent at all, Dean reflected. That was odd, especially in daylight. He’d have to ask Dad what it meant. She was the strongest ghost he’d ever heard of, but also one of the least harmful.

“It’s all right, Dean,” Maisie said gently. “You are a good brother, protecting Sam. I will not fight you. I just wondered…” Primly, she strolled to a stump on one side of the clearing, and sat down, folding her hands. “I wondered if you might give me one more afternoon. Let me take care of you just a bit more. And then… I’ll be ready.”

“You know what we’re going to do?” Dean asked.

“Yes. I… I am glad that you know how. I believe I _must_ go. I… do not like what I’m becoming. And your father…” Her face darkened. “Your father would be in danger, were I still here when he returned.”

“Our dad’s not bad,” Sam piped up. “He does his best. He’s trying to find the monster that killed our mom. And he saves people.”

“But he was not here to save you, Sam,” Maisie said sadly. “Dean had to do that, though he is still a child himself. Just like my Jeremiah.”

“Who’s a child?” Dean growled, successfully this time.

“I want to play with the erector set,” Sam said suddenly.

“What?” Dean said.

“You can watch me play with it. And Dean will do chores if you want.”

“Hey!”

Maisie came forward and touched Sam’s face tenderly. Sam shuddered. Since he was wearing salt and iron, he felt the ghostly chill. But he ignored it, and leaned forward to embrace her. Dean stared hard and gripped the shotgun, but didn’t interfere.

“I’m sorry about your kids, Maisie. I’m sorry we can’t stay and let you take care of us,” Sam said quietly. “And… I’m sorry about what we’re gonna do. But I think… it’ll be better for you. You should let it go. It wasn’t your fault—not really. Maybe you could’ve been a better mom, but stuff happens, even to kids with perfect parents. You didn’t mean to. And you were too young to know better, too.”

Maisie stood frozen in Sam’s embrace, her expression more devastated than any Dean had ever seen on a human face; a despair that transcended the grave. For the first time, her form wavered and grayed in the sunlight.

“Thank you, Sam,” she said in a sepulchral whisper. “Dean…”

Dean shivered as she raised her gaze to his face. “Yeah?” he said gruffly, swallowing.

“Please light the fire now. I… have made some preparations, so the mud should be no impediment.”

“Maisie! Sam sobbed. “I… I thought you wanted me to play…”

“I don’t need that now, Sam. And you don’t either. It’s time. But I would like it if… you’d stay with me, while your brother does what’s necessary.”

“I will,” Sam whispered.

She shifted her gaze to Dean again. “A kiss goodbye for Mother, Dean?” she said, with odd cheerfulness.

Dean cleared his throat. Why wasn’t this more creepy? Hesitantly, he approached Maisie, who diffidently presented her cheek. Dean kissed it self-consciously, ignoring the glacial burn on his lips as they passed through the ghostly flesh. “Goodbye, Maisie,” he managed.

“Goodbye, Dean. Thank you.”

Dean looked at Sam, who stood in Maisie’s arms, grief-stricken. He was weeping, his face pressed into Maisie’s shoulder. He must have felt Dean’s gaze, because he looked up to meet it. Dean started a little—Sam’s face was covered with trails of a whitish substance. Dean realized that Sam’s tears were freezing on his face. His lips were bluish.

He’d better get the job done, or Sam would end up with frostbite. But he waited until Sam nodded at him. He pulled out the salt and strode quickly to the well. Peering in, he saw that the bottom was bizarrely dry. Even if the well was empty, nothing below ground level should be dry in this climate, particularly after a big rainstorm. Not only that, but the bones were clearly visible. Too many for one person, and unnaturally clean. It was true. Maisie had done most of the work for him.

He dumped the whole 10-pound bag of salt into the well, aiming for the bones as best he could. He poured in the kerosene and stood, taking one last look at Maisie over his shoulder.

She stood quietly, holding Sam. Dean was struck by how beautiful she was. His father had taught him that ghosts were evil. He knew Maisie had been a bad mother, and she’d hurt him, too, with the falls and the wasps and all. But as he looked at her, before he struck the match, he couldn’t find any anger, or sense of vengeance. He felt only sadness for her wasted life, and that of her children. But as he cast the burning match into the well, he also felt a brief surge of envy. They would all be together now. His own mother was gone forever.

Dean heard the flames hiss to life behind him. Maisie’s image flickered, and Dean went to her side. She put one arm around him, leaving the other around Sam as she began to dissolve. Dean embraced her, and saw Sam bury his head in her shoulder, sobbing. She stroked his hair, fingers incandescing into nothingness. The last thing to fade was her voice.

“It’s all right, boys,” she murmured tenderly. “It’s all right. Mother’s here.”

They were alone then under the emerging sun. Ground mist melted away as the clouds thinned, and birds sang in the woods as Sam sank weeping to the ground. Dean came with him, clutching his brother as hard as he could. “It’s OK. It’s OK, Sammy,” he said, over and over, but he wept, too. And when Sam didn’t rise, Dean picked him up. It was a long way, and Sam was far too big and heavy; nonetheless, Dean carried his brother all the way home.

***

That night, Dean dreamed of his mother again. But this time, Sam was there. They were at the pool, sitting on beach towels. Mom rubbed sunscreen on a wriggling Sam, laughing as he tried to escape, and did, briefly. Dean caught him and brought him back, but Sam was slippery with sunscreen, and he broke free again. Dean chased him around and around, until Sam finally collapsed, giggling and gasping, and Mom, also laughing, slathered him good and turned him loose.

“Your turn, Dean,” she said, and rubbed the sunscreen all over him. “You’re going to be one big freckle by the time summer’s over.”

“Can I go off the diving board, Mom? I wanna swim in the deep end.”

“You can go in the deep end, but keep an eye on your brother, honey. He needs you to watch out for him.”

Dean watched Sam, splashing by the steps of the shallow end. “I will, Mom. I promise.”

***

The next day, Dean quit his job at the burger stand. He and Sam spent the next few days fishing, watching the otters, and exploring the woods. They finally found the waterfall. Dean regretted not seeing Sondra, but he guessed there’d be other girls.

Dean woke with a start one morning, very early, to the sound of whistling. He grabbed his shotgun, cocked it, and stood between Sam and the door. It opened, and his father came in.

John glanced mildly at Dean, raising his eyebrows. “You sleep light these days. Way to go, Deano.”

“Dad!” Sam shouted, and rushed past Dean to hug his father. Dad looked startled. So was Dean. Sam never hugged Dad anymore.

“Hey, kiddo!” John said. He was in an unusually good mood. He hugged Sam and ruffled his hair.

Hardly understanding his own impulse, Dean put the gun down and hugged his father, too. He clung on hard. It felt impossible to let go.

“Hey!” John repeated, holding on to both his sons. “I guess you guys missed me.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, his voice muffled by their father’s shirt.

“Why the salt lines? And the welcome committee?” He glanced at the gun Dean had set on the table.

“Nothing. Just… remembering my training, sir,” Dean said.

“Anything interesting happen here while I was gone?” John asked, releasing his sons and turning away to set down his backpack.

Dean caught Sam’s eye. It was only a moment’s glance, but it told him everything he needed to know. Sam smiled sadly.

“Nope,” said Dean. “Nothing.”

~The End~

**Author's Note:**

> This story was a sort of wish fulfillment for me. Even though I’m not a domestic type, I have desperately longed to take in the wee!chesters and feed them and cuddle them and bake them cookies, read them bedtime stories (NICE ones, not fairy tales!) and tuck them in to safely sleep… but this is never to be for poor Sam and Dean. Unless it’s with an odd twist…
> 
> I wanted the story to make people cry. I feel some tears should shed for the poor, motherless young Winchesters. It made ME cry, and my best friend when she read it for me. So that's a start.


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